


In your orbit

by ginny_hermy_4ever



Category: The Princess Switch (2018)
Genre: F/F, They're both bi, crackship, everyone is bi, ok only super distantly, they're not related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28178808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginny_hermy_4ever/pseuds/ginny_hermy_4ever
Summary: Stacy realises Margaret looks just a little bit better than her in her own clothes.
Relationships: Stacy De Novo/Margaret Delacourt
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	In your orbit

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all like hella ambiguous pronoun usage right? Argh. Can't even go "the blonde" or "the brunette" like any other wlw fic when they're literally identical.

“Okay, now there is a sightseeing schedule in the back pocket of those jeans. All you need to do is follow it for the next two days!” She was doing her level best to beam despite the sudden, whirlwind changes. As a person who hated sudden changes this was legitimately a nightmare she’d had at least twice last month. Cooking at a competition without enough prep time? Craziness, yet, she’d agreed to the switch despite it.

Margaret slid her hand into the back pocket and her eyes followed the hand, it felt so egotistical and vain to say it about the surprise dopplegänger but _wow_ Lady Margaret was just gorgeous. And did the royal look better than she did in her jeans? Pfft! That was not fair! Her arms were so slender, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“And thank you from the bottom of my heart” Margaret exhaled with relief, her eyes twinkling in the light of the christmas tree and Stacy thought she might just fall into them.

Stacy stuck out her hand to keep it casual but Margaret but came in for a hug and her heart skipped a beat. They were the same height and it felt bewildering. Somewhere between the coziness of a body she knew so intimately and the disturbing out-of-body experience of hugging this identical twin she’d never known existed. As they wrapped their arms around each other, Stacy’s nose filled with the scent of royal perfume (it smelled like gilded nutmeg or something else ridiculously expensive,) and she couldn’t help herself as her eyes wandered down, and ok, she _definitely_ looked better in her jeans than she did.

The door closed behind her and she was alone, so alone, pretending to be a duchess on Christmas. Her entire world had been turned upside down. Thanks to the constant nagging from Kevin about being adventurous, and her inability to resist proving others wrong, she was stuck as someone else for two days out of spite. _I can be fun. No, I am fun damnit!_

She slowly came out of the world of her own thoughts and internal arguments and anxieties to hear Ms Donatelli saying “The truth is I would do anything for her, which means that for the next two days, I will do anything for you.”

* * *

“I will be right outside,” Donatelli said closing the door behind them.

Turning her mind and eyes towards Margaret, it was so nice to see her again! This charade was finally over and oh heavens what a relief! She’d even caught herself even thinking in this ridiculously pompous accent that she’d been putting on. But seeing her in person again just drove home how absolutely surreal this whole experience had been. A dopplegänger, or long lost super distant relative, or, something, out of nowhere. And then they’d swithced lives on a whim. And a dopplegänger that looked like when she took selfies and turned the “beauty” filter on. Despite being so nearly identical, everything just looked slightly better on her. If she was being rational, that could probably be chalked up to the personal chef and healthy diet that wealth could buy. Also the unnecessarily stiff posture that was _doubtlessly_ better than her slouching.

But all rationality left her mind when Margaret asked “So, did you get to do everything you wanted?”

* * *

A beat passed before she could respond, “Almost.” The question triggering Stacy’s mind to queue the cinema reel of thoughts she’d been avoiding.

Margaret stopped, stared, and raised an eyebrow “Almost?”

Stacy couldn’t look at her, it was too queer a thing to even say. The days had been an absolute whirlwind of excitement and royal business and fake courtship but when the evenings came, she’d struggled to get to sleep. So naturally she turned to nature’s soporific, it had worked for her in the past. Edward was very attractive of course and she’d started both nights with lovely fantasies of their daily adventures becoming a bit hotter, wrapped in his strong arms… before her brain had decided to revolt and take a sharp left and he’d been drug off to attend royal nonsense and lo, Margaret had come to,,, console her. She couldn’t deny that she’d slept easily those nights.

In the daylight hours Stacy pointedly avoided thinking about the implications of that topic. Even the barest reminder of her nighttime reveries made her nearly sick. They couldn’t figure out where the family tree connected which was a significant reassurance, but it was just so disgustingly vain, right? Her clone was just as hot as the prince and she had to choose somehow.

So Stacy chose to let the moment go and redirected the conversation to a safe topic with haste

“You know, Edward’s really special. He’s thoughtful. He’s kind.”

* * *

“Oh, I do believe this belongs to you.” Margaret removed the baseball cap and offered it to Stacy. Right, they needed to get changed back.

Right, she realised, they were completely alone.

Oh no.

No no no.

Margaret had led them to the bedroom and stood between Stacy and the bed. Margaret turned her back and removed her shirt without hesitation. At the sight of her back and shoulder muscles flexing Stacy lost the ability to think as Margaret lay the shirt on the bed.

“ _Almost_ ” she breathed, unconsciously

Margaret turned “Sorry, I missed that, what did you say?”

Stacy stared, bewitched. She tried, oh, she tried to keep her eyes on Margaret’s eyes but it was hopeless. Just trying to process what she had said, her eyes had fallen on those perfect lips, but they could not reconstruct the question that had been asked. And from there her eyes were pulled down, to her collarbone, then to her shapely chest. She had tried to escape their gravity, the gravity of the action and the moment. It had been a futile attempt from the start, she didn’t know why she bothered.

Before she could stop herself she said “That is… wow. I really thought we were identical but you got the better chest by a mile. It’s _not_ fair!” Stacy accentuated the outburst with a small stomp of her foot. She felt herself bite into her lip, maybe from the sight, maybe just as her brain’s last recourse to stop spilling these thoughts which were _not_ meant to be shared.

And enchanted, she sees her right hand reaching out to confirm what her eyes are telling her.

“Ahhh” the princess-to-be smirks “Was this your ‘almost’ then?”

She meets the hand in the air, and guides it to her breast.

Quirking her eyebrow Margaret continued “My family believe in duty, and truth. And if I am being truthful, I cannot say the thought hadn’t crossed my mind as well.”

In this drafty castle, in the middle of winter, they stood a foot apart with time freezing to a stop around them. With one hand on her clone’s breast, Stacy suddenly felt too warm.

“Well… this wasn’t supposed to happen” she offered, in apology more than anything, and in contrast with her hand which had started massaging the tissue.

“No, it wasn’t…” Margaret agreed as she raised her other hand to Stacy’s cheek, guiding her closer.

Every hair stood on the back of her neck as her mind raced. She was going to kiss a capital L lady! And her dopplegänger! Was it wrong? How could it be wrong. Oh, the vanity. And who…

Their lips touched and it was soft and warm and electric and every train of thought flatlined in her brain. It was nothing like the prince, all softness and gentleness and none of his rough hands and manly odour. The luxurious, nutmeg-y smell of her hair was enthralling and she brought her free hand to the duchess’ hip to pull her closer.

She had been waiting for this moment for two days. Ever since their first meeting and the sheer improbability of meeting her clone at a cooking competition in Belgravia, and ever since that evening after switching, she hadn’t been able to get the idea out of her head. It was basically masturbating, right? She’d thought, justifying the attraction. She couldn’t discount all of the problematic parts of trying to bed your dopplegänger, but she was _hot_! Every feminist on the internet had been reminding her to be more confident in her body and attractiveness.

Here was confirmation. She knew how hot she was.

Hot enough to make her lose her mind.

She wasn’t alone in this she realised, Lady Margaret was responding with a similar fervor, lips moving, brushing, touching, seeking. Margaret’s tounge grazed her lips seeking entry and she was on fire, she saw stars behind her eyelids. Her hands were pulling Stacy’s face closer, fingers running down the side of her face, sending shivers down Stacy’s body.

The duchess moaned into the kiss and Stacy’s heart skipped a beat and her stomach did several rotations. She felt like her gravity was pulling her into a decaying orbit around the royal. They had danced for hours and now they were, inevitably, crashing into one another.

Their clothing was quickly gone. Stacy would later remind herself that they did come to swap clothing after all, as if that explained pushing Margaret back onto the bed. As if that explained their passion that evening.

“Hey not to ruin the moment but isn’t this just like a teensy bit weird?” Stacy worried as she stradled the duchess. Margaret laughed softly as she responded “Oh yes, absolutely”

Reaching up to pull her dopplegänger down she whispered in Stacy’s ear: “but I would’ve regretted not trying.”

* * *

  
_The next morning_  


“It’s just I really wish Margaret didn’t have to go. And now she has to marry that creepy, old prince who probably smells like mothballs” Olivia complained the next morning when she and Stacy sat down to breakfast together.

“Okay, first of all, the Prince does not smell like mothballs, and he’s definitely not creepy.” he’d been so adorable the entire time and she couldn’t deny the significant affections that had developed for him.

…But she also couldn’t stop thinking about her night with Margaret.

“Then what was he?” Olivia wondered “She was Dreamy. Sweet. Funny. Sexy.” her eyes glazed over as she trailed off, remembering their night of unexpected passion. Remembering how Margaret had tasted. How Margaret had moaned her name every time she came. How they had cuddled. How they had giggled like teenagers when they tried to get dressed again.

“She?” “SHIT! He, I mean, he. Also shit sorry, don’t say shit! And don’t tell your dad I swore in front of you I’m so sorry.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've posted publicly? Y'all's feedback is welcome :) I know it's a ridiculous pairing but I rewatched the Princess Switch this season and couldn't help myself.


End file.
